Fog
by April29Roses
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are both lost in a fog that threatens their lives and their destinies in unexpected and terrible ways, revealing and concealing secrets that center on the nature of Excalibur. Told from two points of view.
1. Chapter 1

"He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God." Aesychlus

Prologue

The sword had come to his hand with a ringing familiarity. It reverberated with ancient strength as it slid from the stone; he remembered well the sparking magic and how Arthur had felt the thrum of it's power echo through him as he raised it high. In the morning sun, Excalibur in his hand, he felt destiny rush upon him. It was a moment etched in gold.

Excalibur was his sword.

Sometimes, Arthur believed he had never known a time without a sword at his side. It was his most essential weapon as a knight. He had been training with one since the time he could walk. His father had doted on the weapons he gave his only son. As a boy, Arthur had learned to appreciate the finesse of a blade; to appreciate the essence of a knight's weapon, the care in it's forging and it's tempering. The royal forge of Camelot had produced other blades with balance and weight just as fine as Excalibur. But it was still somehow different. Never had Arthur moved with a weapon as this one moved with him. It was alive in his hand, responding almost with him, a part of him, a living blur of finest steel and speed. He had given his heart to the sword in the moment it became his. It sang under his hand. It was his in a way no other blade had ever been.

One night, not long after they reclaimed Camelot, Arthur had seen Guinevere looking at it, with a an unfathomable expression, when she thought no one was looking. Her fingers were longing to touch the blade but each time she stopped herself. She was a blacksmith's daughter, and clever at the forge herself, so he had wondered at her careful inspection and strange reticence. She avoided looking at it again, and the pained contemplation in her eyes afterwards had silenced his questions.

By some implicit agreement since that day, only Arthur or Merlin had handled the sword. There was no discussion, it simply happened that way, and Arthur had known that it was better so. And despite Guinevere's strange reaction, Arthur grew to love the weapon more and more with each use.

He kept it by him and used it, because had fallen in love with the blade. No squire had ever loved his first sword as much as Arthur loved Excalibur. He even admitted he was a bit besotted with it, in fact. Arthur confessed this last secret, for Merlin's ears alone, one night, when they both had too much to drink. He told his friend that Excalibur seemed as if it had been made for him, that it was somehow, a part of him. HIs servant had only smiled in his unfathomable way. He loved the surge of strength and confidence when he used it in battle and it filled him with that same concentration and will as the morning he drew it forth from the stone. It's legend was great among the people of Camelot, and among his enemies as well. But the bond with his sword was deeper than than the legend that had grown up around it.

When his doubts began to attack him in weary, unrelenting nightmares, Arthur would take up Excalibur and go out into the moonlight. He would immerse himself in the golden morning of Excalibur. In that eternal moment, the strength of his people had buoyed him. The loyalty of his knights had erased the betrayal of those he loved. Morgana and Agravaine faded into shadows of mutiny, ghosts more kindly remembered for whom they once had been. Not for what they became and the nightmare they perpetrated.

But if his memories offered comfort, there were nights when Excalibur seemed to sing under the starlight. It hummed with power, and warmed to his hand under the wild moonlight of summer and the heartfelt silence of cold and snow. It was magic and it sang to him, and flowed through him as they fought together, blade and king. It was magic, and it brought him comfort, when the weight of his kingship sat heavy on his soul. He admitted this only to his deepest self on the most solitary of moments. And it raised a fear so deep, he could not bear to face it. Magic.

Excalibur was his sword.

Never could he imagine fighting with any blade but Excalibur at his side. But he knew there would come a day, when he would not be able to look away from the essential nature of the blade that he carried. It was a day he dreaded.


	2. Chapter 2

Fog

The fog was freezing and damp, but it seethed in his lungs with a fire that spurred him to move even faster. He could barely breathe. He forced his legs to keep going. Each step was a decision that propelled him further into agony. His lungs strained and burned. He paused for a breath, working hard to carefully draw air deeply into himself, knowing there was no time to rest and try to regain his strength. He kept going.

Arthur fought for balance, thrown off by the weight he carried. He staggered a bit, but his pace never slowed. The fog curled and swirled with his movements, but the thick mist was eerily still only a few feet in front of him. It was impossible to see. He stumbled again as his boots slid on a slick of deep mud. He sank to his knees, but took a deep breath and came up again, struggling under the burden he carried. To his horror, the weight he bore seemed heavier with each tortured moment. He trudged through the burgeoning fog, but everything looked strange and still, his own breath echoing in the dense cloud that surrounded him. His heart was thundering. Merlin was a dead weight. His shoulders ached as he fell once more to his knees, tripping over something in the path. He could not find the strength to come to his feet again. His heart sank as he tried to catch his breath.

The dead weighed heavier than the living.

The thought circled in his brain, turning into a fear that consumed him. Even as he fought his way to his feet once more, resolving to keep going, Arthur sank to his knees once more. A sob, that could have been a gasp of sorrow or pain, escaped him, as he rolled Merlin's body off his back and into the circle of his arms. HIs friend slid limply to the ground, his head lolling weakly against Arthur's supporting embrace.

"Merlin,"

Even to his ears, Arthur's voice sounded small and terrified. That made him feel angry and he hung on to that strength. To his shame, tears still threatened, burning in his eyes. Merlin's clothing was cold and damp, and he lay hopelessly still. He couldn't bear to know if Merlin lived. Hardly able to register what he was doing, Arthur felt for the pulse in the base of his servant's throat. Yes, there under his ridiculous neckerchief, the idiot's heart was still beating. He took a breath of pure relief and the world righted itself. He swatted softly at the dark haired boy's face. "Wake up, you numbskull," he growled, with just hint of disdain. There was no response.

"C'mon now, Merlin! I can't haul your lazy ass anymore. Wake up!" Despite his words, he laid a careful hand on the other man's forehead for a moment, before briefly touching his hair. He felt for his pulse again, as if to reassure himself. "You idiot," he said softly. "You stupid, loyal idiot! If you...What were you...Merlin, please!" Arthur's voice had lost it's mocking edge, verging on real desperation.

It had all happened so quickly. Merlin and Arthur had gotten separated from the knights as they followed the trail of a group of bandits. They had passed the entrance to the glade , coming upon it obliquely, as it lay hidden near the bend of a stream in the ravines and hills of the forest. In the growing dark of the early evening, Arthur had not noted the Druid flags that guarded the entrance to the copse of trees, so intent he had been in holding fast to the trail, keeping his eyes trained on the ground even as the light died from the sky.

Too late he heard Merlin's cry of warning. His hand had gone at once to his sword, drawing Excalibur. Arthur had seen the warning flags only as shadows as a blast of blue light surged from the darkened alcove of thick trees. His armor had tingled, sparking lightning blue, and the air was thick with the smell of magic, and then suddenly, Merlin was in front of him. Merlin was between him and the blue fire, without a word and in the blink of an eye. The energy of the blast had hit his servant first and thrown him back on top of Arthur. They had been airborne for a long second, and then the sickening fall had ended. He had hit his head, everything going black for a long moment and then he was trying desperately to catch his breath. He reflexively shoved at the weight resting limply on his chest, only to recognize it was his servant. Even worse, Merlin had not moved again; he had not roused to Arthur's cries. Fog poured from the darkened alcove of trees that had been the origin of the attack.

It skirled and gathered, chilling everything into a unnatural silence. The darkness was dead and cold. As the fog surrounded him, seeping everywhere, Arthur's heart bled in horror while his mind denied what had happened. Merlin wasn't moving, wasn't waking up. His head reeled with relief at having escaped death, but the lifeless weight of his servant was unbearable. Unthinkable. Thrumming with adrenaline, Arthur picked up his unconscious friend with a fluid strength and ease, and began to run. It didn't matter where, just away from the fog, away from the magic. Away.

And yet here they were,after running for a long, terrible time, his strength gone, the fog burning in his lungs, still completely lost in the thickening cloud that made the way ever more dark. Reality clawed at his heart.

He looked down at his friend, hardly able to see him in the pale darkness. He carefully lay the servant down again, pulling at the water flask at his hip, he dribbled some water across his forehead. There was not a flutter of response. Arthur poured a few drops into Merlin's mouth, stroking his throat, but the boy didn't move, even though he swallowed reflexively. He took the swallow as a good omen.

Arthur had to keep going. He pulled the servant into a half sitting position, leaning against him and gently, slowly, maneuvered him into position to lift him.

"You owe me!" Arthur grunted as he lifted, and swayed as he regained his balance, starting to climb. If he climbed, he could get above the fog. He had to get away from the fog. Merlin didn't groan or cry out throughout the entire time and that frightened Arthur even further. His friend was still alive, he told himself. That thought stood at the center of this nightmare of uncertainty.

"Hold fast, Merlin," Arthur said as commandingly as he could. There were none to see if it was sweat or tears that streamed down his face, in the unnatural, swirling mist. The moonlight made ghosts of the trees, made them into blasted shadows of devastation, writhing in the pale fog. Arthur moved upward, grinding into the slope with his boots to gain leverage. He had to get out and above the fog. He knew it.

"We're going to get out of here."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for all the kind comments on this story. Your welcome means a great deal to me and I hope you will continue to enjoy this tale! The italics denote Merlin's point of view.

It _all happened so fast. Arthur was completely focused on following the trail of the bandits, and he registered Merlin's warning cry too late. They had come upon the glade at the confluence of two ravines and a deep running stream. The Druid flags were upon Arthur before he saw them; his eyes had been trained downward. The secret warlock sensed the power of the blessing and the wards that surrounded the glade. Magical warnings blared of terrible danger, but Arthur was both blind and deaf to them. Worse still, as Merlin watched in horror, the King drew Excalibur. The ancient protective spell fractured in that instant. He saw Arthur's armor spark with blue fire as the the spell grew in energy before the blast he knew would come._

 _Merlin slowed time to give himself the chance to get Arthur to safety. It was a part of his magic so reflexive, it was almost beyond his control. He knew he couldn't stop the explosion, but he could get there in time to save Arthur. He threw himself between the king and the blast just in time, taking the majority of the energy into himself. The white hot power of the spell filled his sight. The blast threw him backwards, his body protecting Arthur. For a long moment everything seemed so bright, everything limned in silver, beautifully precise, and then the fog began. As the impact knocked the air from his lungs and he landed in tangled heap with the king, the fog surrounded him. It surged around him numbly, weakening him more with each breath. He couldn't see, everything was fog and white stillness._

" _Leoht,". It was the first and simplest of magics, but he found only a sudden abyss. Nothing happened._

 _He struggled to his feet, still intent on getting his friend to safety, but he immediately collapsed, on top of Arthur once more. He had no strength. To his horror, Merlin realized he could not use his magic. Some mysterious part of him was winded and shaken, his magic paralyzed. It was as if a part of his soul had been suddenly torn from him and he reeled in shock. And then he realized the thickening fog was poison to those with magic._

 _One moment, he was reasoning through the thought and then, within a heartbeat, a nightmare reality began. He was poisoned. He couldn't breathe and then a moment later, before he even knew what was happening, Merlin could no longer feel his own body. He tried to move but he couldn't. The fog coiled and dissipated into new clouds of confusion, filling up the corners of his every strength. Fighting still, thinking only of Arthur, he tried with all his might to move away, but his struggle was fruitless. There was only fog, and a still strange world that he no longer recognized._

 _He wandered for a long time in the strange darkness._

 _The trees were filled with fog, but now it glimmered like snow on the edges of his vision, it coated everything like hoarfrost. The branches were silent under their burden of fog. He saw glimpses of movements in the stillness, the shape of a dragon, the curve of a golden cup obscured in the mist. The vessel shone bright as he took a breath and then his sight was filled with a sword, glittering in the stone under the light of a rising sun. Excalibur was shining in Arthur's hand like a brand, blazing bright as dreams. His heart faltered._

 _No. There was no sun. There was only the pale unending fog, the dampness layering in his clothes and chilling his bones. Only darkness. The vision thinned and disappeared. From the void, he heard laughter, a woman's laughter and he glimpsed Nimue, her azure cape unfurling in the fog. Her eyes ensorcelled, just as he remembered, and they sparkled with forbidden knowledge and haunting sacrifice. Secrets. Now he was lip to lip with her. She tasted of roses and he leaned deeper into her kiss, his fingers sliding in the dark tresses of her hair. Her eyes were green, green as the tranquil waters of Avalon. It was not Nimue whose touch thrilled along his open senses. No; it was someone far more dear, someone infinitely more dangerous who called to him._

 _Morgana. She was beautiful; her emerald dress trailing over the floor, as she cast her shining eyes about the admiring crowd. Her hair was a trail of chaotic silken curls, her skin glowing in the firelight. Somewhere in the castle, there was a bouquet of wildflowers on her table. Morgana was calling his name. She was laughing at Arthur; stubbornly insisting on helping them in their quest to Ealdor even if Uther disapproved. In his bright vision, she turned to look back at him once more, but now her eyes were empty, her midnight hair a snarl of neglect. Blood edged his vision; she was calling his name. Her voice was still sweet and it struck like a dagger in the dark. He convulsed in guilt because she was in agony. Her eyes were uncomprehending as the poison burned in her throat. His heart was torn open and the fog filled it. The weight of his sins was too great. His tears burned like acid and she was dying in his arms. His beautiful Morgana. Dying. The silent recrimination of her eyes tortured him; it eddied and ebbed, swirling around him, pulling him down into the darkness. She was gasping in terror and death was close. Merlin shook in pain, reliving his actions, flailing in the torrent of his guilt._

 _He tried to remember he was poisoned. The thought held for a moment and then was swept away again by the fog of his visions. He shuddered. He could not bear to see more. He wondered if he was being tortured. It might all be a lie._

 _Arthur was calling his name. He had seldom heard Arthur sound desperate._

 _Arthur._

 _Even through the fog around him, the memory of the blue fire attack surged into his awareness. He was poisoned. This time, he was able to stand against the visions for a moment. Arthur was calling him. His body was unresponsive, he couldn't move but he heard Arthur's familiar cursing and then an insult that made him fight even harder against the fog. He tried to open his eyes. He fought but again found he was paralyzed. He had no strength. Arthur was near, but he couldn't move. Water flowed past his lips and he sobbed for more, longing for just one more drink, but his limbs were like leaden planks. He couldn't open his eyes. Arthur. He was sure he could hear Arthur's voice again, saying something but he couldn't understand, it was all strange and echoing in the fog._

 _He saw a child's eyes, innocent and frightened, the Druid marks on his arms telling the story of his young life, but now those same eyes were those of a young man, a knight of strength and courage. Mordred. The boy's name had been Mordred. The voice of the dragon twined into the fear in his soul. In those blue eyes, innocence had become mystery, and the fright had become power. A pit of vast dread possessed Merlin and he struggled as if he was drowning, to no avail. The fog echoed with visions._

 _The mist swirled and gained hold again, his breathing slowed. He wandered again, lost in a forest of blackened limbs of trees. There were the bodies of men lying in the mud. The air stank of death and blood and he could hear the cries of the wounded. The screams of the dying were replaced by blood that flowed across the washing ripples of water. The forest of fog was gone and the lake of Avalon was filled with fire, the water burning with a liquid flames. A boat sailed across the shimmering surface. Merlin's eyes streamed tears. In his vision, his own heart was cloven wide, like a great gaping wound, a wound from which he could not die. The eyes of the ghostly Fisher-king, covered in the dust of eons, looked into his eyes like those of a long lost brother. He handed Merlin a flask of water. There was pain in their kinship but no solace._

" _Thank you," whispered Arthur. Merlin could barely hear him, he was so weak. Arthur's voice was broken as he strained to speak again, his strength eaten away by the blood that stained his armor. Merlin's heart burst into a thousand shards of glass, like a mirror slivered into a thousand shattered possibilities, irreparable, forever destroyed. The pain in his gaping wound became a tidal wave; it subsumed him. It obliterated all of his certainties, everything that mattered. "Thank you."_

 _He lay shaken past despair by his visions. Without his magic, Merlin grew ever weaker and he ranged, lost and desolate in the fog of his visions, because he had killed Morgana and Arthur was dead. The endless march of time would move past him while he wandered this half life of vision forever. Only the darkness could accept the monster he had become. But he would not be granted that surcease. His fate was to live on, ever on, hoping for for some intangible day of return in this fog of despair. There was no light, no darkness, only the endless tragedies of the dream of Camelot, lost in the waves of his torment. In the strange white sky, he suddenly thought he glimpsed the sun, shining through the heavy mist, a voice like a light. But it was not the sun; it was Arthur._


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur had been climbing for a long time. He concentrated only on putting one foot down in front of the other, ever upward; he cared not about any other direction. He had to get above the fog. This certainty pounded with every beat of his heart. At last, his head began to clear. He looked around, almost astonished. The air was clear of the fog up this high. He took a deep breath, encouraged, and climbed a bit more. He slid unexpectedly on the thick cover of pine needles, scrabbling madly. Merlin fell from his back as he struggled to maintain his balance, and landed with a bonecracking thump, and then rolled over on to his stomach because of the incline of the slope and lay limp.

"Merlin!"

Arthur threw himself forward. He was reaching down to feel for a pulse, his heart in his mouth , when to his shock and surprise, his servant gave a small heave. The movement was a miracle as far as Arthur was concerned. He pounded on his back instinctively, and Merlin coughed. He took another halting breath and Arthur pounded again; the servant seized into a paroxysm of coughing that shook him for minutes. He lay hunched over, his face in his arms as he retched and gasped.

"If I knew all I had to do was drop you on your head to get you to come back to life, I would have dumped you a mile ago," said Arthur, with a relieved sob of laughter, as he ceased his pounding and his touch became more soothing. Merlin was now alternating fits of coughing with desperate, hasty gasps. He couldn't tell if Merlin was laughing or crying in between; all that mattered was that his servant was breathing and moving, and so was he.

The sun was coming up. The first pink rays of the sun had colored the clouds, sweeping gold into the vast expanse of the coming day. The fog was sunk into the eddies of the ravines below, following the path of the stream that ran through the forest. It was an eerie scene. Relief at Merlin's strange revival was eclipsed by the danger below. It was a magical fog, horrors dwelt in it's white stillness. Dread filled Arthur as he looked, truly looked at his friend..

He could not tell how badly Merlin was injured; there was no burn, no wound, no arrow to let him know where the wound was or if it was mortal. He saw the boy shiver, the movement echoing down his body like a cascade. He felt the trembling, painful heave of it through his damp shirt beneath his hands. Merlin was suddenly pushing and twisting, and it took a moment for Arthur to realize that his servant didn't have the strength to turn over. His brief sense of relief evaporated as if it had never been. It had been a narrow escape that didn't quite happen.

He was gentle as he gathered Merlin into his arms once more. Arthur's heart fell further into nightmare, hearing an uncomprehending, inhaled gasp of pain. It shook him down to his bones. He knew his friend had had taken the brunt of the magical explosion, but he had no idea what to look for. The specter of some horrific magical injury surfaced again. There was no blood. No wound. He had no idea of what to do next.

To his vast relief, Merlin's eyes slivered open, as he lifted him. They opened wide as Arthur came into view. The light of recognition lit their familiar sparkle. The king smiled like a complete idiot in spite of everything.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, his voice slurring a bit. He tried to smile, even as another wave of shivering wracked him. He coughed convulsively. Arthur didn't know if his heart was pounding from the joy of seeing his friend alive or if it his heart was breaking.

They both looked at the rising sun for a moment, trying not to talk, merely glad to be together, but Arthur saw strain quickly filled his friend's features after only a moment. Merlin's lips were working as if he had something that was driving him to speak. He coughed again, blood staining his lips and spraying Arthur's mail. Despite his struggle, there was no fear in his eyes.

"Poison," he gasped. "The fog is poison, Arthur! The Druids. They live...," the coughing took him again, and this time, blood sprayed more heavily from his mouth, staining his chin and neck, soaking into his neckerchief. Arthur instinctively raised him. Merlin took another breath, his eyes pleading. "Go," he strained. "Go!" His servant arched helplessly as he fought another wave of shivering, his eyes never leaving Arthur's face. " The fog ...poison." he took another breath. "Excalibur!"

Arthur gave one panicked look at the scene below him. There was a Druid encampment, not half a mile from where the fog now snaked through the ravine. The brilliant dawn was a counterpoint to the sea of fog. The trunks of trees thrust up like pleading messengers from the depths of the white stillness. Arthur understood with a sickening certainty what Merlin was asking. He must save the lives of the Druids. They stood, uncomprehending, on the edge of a silent massacre. Merlin believed Excalibur would end the spell that was releasing the fog. Understanding the necessity did not make his leaving his friend at this moment any easier.

He felt Merlin's hand tremble forward and take his own. His servant squeezed with a surprising strength. There was the faintest smile on his face, as if he already knew that his king would somehow save the day. Without a word, after only a moment, his eyes slid shut. Arthur eased him against a tree, pillowing him on his own wadded up cape. The red fabric surrounded him, and Arthur shivered. It seemed Merlin lay in a pool of his own blood in some bizarre vision.

This was the price Merlin paid for saving Arthur's life. Uther had told him that men would die for him some day, but this was something else. He tried to rouse his servant once more, patting his face and trailing his fingers through his black hair. It was frightening. Arthur overflowed with a pang of unfathomable emotion, his hands pausing, frozen for a moment in despair. As if Merlin responded to his thought, his friend's eyes shivered open at last. Arthur tried to smile.

"I'll be back for you Merlin, so stay put, alright?" His servant looked stunned, as if he didn't quite know what was happening. "Of course you never do as you're told...I need to... I want to say...that was a brave thing you did, Merlin. I don't know why you saved me like that." Arthur's voice trembled only slightly. "Back there, you know... I mean,... I can get out of the way as quick as the next man." His voice thickened and stuck in his throat. "You shouldn't have done it, Merlin. But thank..."

"No," Merlin cried out. "No!"

To Arthur's shock, his servant struggled to sit up, a look of horror on his face, somehow finding the strength to stop his words.

"No", he pleaded. It was the firm voice of his servant again, not the rasping whisper of an injured man. "Don't say thank you! Never! " His eyes were blazing." Never say that word again! Not to me!" Merlin's artificial strength deserted him and Arthur was further shaken by his friend's tears as the king eased him back against the tree again. Another coughing fit tortured him and Arthur watched in agony as Merlin writhed, almost helplessly . The blood sprayed more faintly now.

"No, never," replied Arthur, uncomprehending and heart stricken, as he tried to comfort Merlin with nothing but his promise. "I'll never say that word again."

"Not for anything," insisted Merlin.

"Never," With his promise, his servant relaxed, taking his first slow easy breath and then another. Merlin's attempted a smile, but he was weakening; his eyes drooping, like a child fighting sleep.

"Go!" He only mouthed the word.

Arthur nodded. His heart could bear no more. He turned and raced back into the fog, determined that he should not fail in his mission.


	5. Chapter 5

_Merlin fought the visions. They were poison deliriums, at least he hoped they were. Dark visions, twisted and warped, tainted by his own failure and guilt. Nothing had yet come to pass. The visions were lies, and he fought them. He hung on to the thought and that was a victory in itself. It was if an abyss had opened up in his chest, and everything was a void. He struggled to reach past the fog and the visions retreated like shadows. His friend was there._

 _Arthur's eyes were filled with emotions for which he would never find the words and Merlin fought to stay with him, to stay aware, to avoid the fog. Each agonizing gasp, brought more clean air into his lungs and the dreaded fog retreated from his mind, but his body was not so easily recovered from the poison. In his first fit of coughing, Merlin had realized his magic was still not working. The abyss of it's absence was draining him further. He writhed with the sensation of not being able to breathe, but wasn't sure if it was the poison or his loss of magic. Perhaps they were the same. He found himself looking up into Arthur's face. Beyond gentleness, there was a naked tremor in his familiar voice that told him everything he needed to know. Arthur promised to never say the words Merlin had come to dread in his vision. Never._

 _The Druids. Time was slipping away. He clung to Arthur's presence like an anchor, knowing he had to leave. He must leave. The lives of a whole village depended on it. "Go," he pleaded, as the visions began to claw at him again, the poison was hooking into his soul in eddies of paralyzing mist, pulling him softly into his own private hell._

 _With a heart wrenching look of sadness, the king turned away and began to run. But to Merlin's surprise, a part of his awareness remained with Arthur. He could feel himself struggling to take a breath, fighting the poison and yet he was also in the forest. A part of him lay moribund, but another part of him never left Arthur's side. He was running faster, relieved to be free and yet he was also trying to take in more air. He slowly took more breaths, praying he wouldn't cough again, trying to stay beside his king. The double awareness twined into his heart firmly._

 _Even in the mist, Arthur's hair caught the first light of the sun as he ran. He leaped easily, timing his jumps as he let the terrain dictate his speed. His focus was on the origin point of the fog. For a moment Merlin wondered if his sight of Arthur was one of his visions in the fog, but he dismissed the idea immediately. On the border of life and death, magic was a fluid power, a dynamic force. This was not a vision, it was some kind of parallel, he was beside Arthur. Running next to him, as they had in a hundred other desperate situations. Sunlight was straining to break through the fog. Leaves scuffed and clods of earth were thrust aside as Arthur ran through the forest. That was not part of the future or the past. He gave up trying to understand what was reality and what was part of his poison visions. If he had the strength, Merlin would have laughed. The fog remained, but he stayed with Arthur. He marshaled his concentration._

 _Taking a slow deep breath, Merlin exhaled, letting his connection to Arthur lead the way to his king. To his delight, a faint puff of wind, parted the mist that swirled around Arthur's ankles. Merlin strained to purse his lips and exhale again, releasing his breath slowly, carefully . A stronger breeze was parting the way before Arthur. He could see the Druid flags now, hanging limply among the bushes, pick up movement in the breeze. The fog poured from behind the bushes and through the trees, roiling and pulsing like a beating heart. Arthur looked about as he gauged the direction of Merlin's careful breeze that had sprung up, like another pulse, keeping the thickest mist away from the King. He did seem surprised._

 _Arthur was close to the source of the fog. There were runes painted on the stones that forme a a portal to the space beyond. The sacred space had protected a weapon, it seemed. Even in this strange half world, Merlin saw the runes were underlaid with protection spells. Ancient ones. A weapon of evil had been contained. Somehow Excalibur's mere presence had damaged the protection spell and everything had gone horribly awry. Arthur crept a bit closer, unable to read the Druid runes that surrounded the well, but he still stared at them intently for a heartbeat. Merlin's spirit sank as he read the script through his king's eyes._

" _As the sorcerers warred, they vied to ma..." here the letters had been blasted away. ...a lethal fog, poison to those with magic, the ultimate weapon of seige... that ... not be destroyed, except by an immortal weapon." Both Arthur and Merlin turned away in disgust. A doomsday poison was creeping across the land. And ironically, only a weapon of magic, like Excalibur could destroy the fog and it's fatal poison._

 _While his magic was weak, his connection to Arthur blazed brighter than ever. To Merlin's sight it glowed like a chain of silver motes clearly visible in the shadows. He held tight to it, taking a slow careful breath. He blew through his lips once more, and the fog parted again and Arthur took another step closer to the ancient circle. There was a well in a clearing, and from it's depth rose the source of the fog. Arthur circled, moving with the wind to stay clear of the mist the streamed and roiled as it surged upward. The morning light moved through the column of fog until it glowed. As Arthur swept Excalibur from it's scabbard, Merlin saw his armor spark again with blue fire._

 _Merlin fought to concentrate, but for some strange reason, he felt himself distracted. He was streaming with sweat. As the poison retreated further from his mind, slowing easing his magic back to his control, his body shook with anguish. Cramping waves shook him once again and again. Merlin's desperate hands slipped to his sides. His fingers twined in the crimson fabric as pain became his only monarch for a ceaseless second. When at last he could take a breath, he realized he was back in his body, lying on Arthur's cape. Arthur. There was no time!_

 _Merlin drew strength from the thought alone. He could not afford to let the pain control him. His fingers wove themselves into the cape. Merlin tugged Arthur's cloak around him; he held the fabric in his clenched fists as waves of pain swept over him again. He was not afraid. He could endure. After eons of moments, Merlin drew his breath in once more. The air was like a heady elixir and the poison retreated even more. His magic seethed below its magical restraint. There._

 _The fog left him as the air swept into his lungs again. Free. The gaping abyss of his magic surged into sudden, powerful cohesion._

 _He let his first true breath of magic surge outward towards Arthur, even as he rejoined his king in the halfworld of spirit, even as Excalibur swept forward. He knew he should have channeled his magic inward, to support his life, but he hovered on the edge of infinite power and death, and his only thought was to ensure Arthur's victory. There were many lives at stake. Innocent lives. For a moment, he worried that Arthur would be furious with him, for this last effort. Then he realized he probably wouldn't have to listen to the tirade._

 _The fog rushed up in ghastly, lovely eddies, like smoke. Merlin kept his focus on the sword as it swept through the roiling golden column. He channeled his strength to flow through and with Excalibur. Magical power exploded against the immaterial ancient weapon. Arthur gave a great yell as he struck and a roar, like thunder echoed all around and then the column of fog began to turn black. Dark gouts of nothingness rose into the light with a scream of pain that grated on the edge of hearing. Fog whirled and turned to darkness as it rose and disappeared. Rising, rising, a great wind flooded past in a torrent until at last all of it was gone. The last few wisps catching the light. Merlin let go a whoop of unadulterated joy._

 _But to his dismay, he began to cough convulsively, his magic spiraled out of his control,and the poison regained it's grip on his body. Exhausted, flailing once more, he was swept along into waves of light and darkness. Lost, disoriented, Merlin could not find Arthur in the maelstrom. The fog and it's nightmare visions clawed at his heart again and his strength at last gave out. His dark head drooped to the side. A sudden spurt of blood bubbled from his lips and trailed down his face, staining the cape that Merlin had hugged ever tighter to himself. His body trembled once with a heaving sigh and he lay quiet._


	6. Chapter 6

As the last of the fog rose like a spiral of golden motes into the morning sky, Arthur heard Merlin's familiar shout of joy. It was a sound he knew instinctively, he had heard it so many times. It was relief and joy. It was the sound that let him know that victory was in his hand. It was the sound that lifted his heart in the most desperate of battles. It was the burst of pride as he disarmed his opponent with a clever hit in the joust. It was a sound he knew so well, that even though it made no sense, he whirled to look for his servant.

"Merlin," he cried, like a fool. But there was no answer and none to hear. Only the silent darkness of the well that marked the center of the shrine remained, it's stones darkened by a mighty blast. He wondered what the Druids had contained here, what terrible magic. The very stones were darkened by the explosion that had probably cost his friend his life.

The thought angered him. Perhaps fate reasoned he needed a reminder of his failure in the midst of his victory, thought Arthur. Bitter and angry, the moment paled in the reality of the larger fight. Merlin was injured by magic. He did not want to think about what he might find.

The Druids were safe, he reminded himself. The women and children were safe; the old couples and the young men were all safe, beginning a peaceful day. They would never know the terrible fate that had been avoided. But he could not smile. As the physical fog lifted, as the spell dissipated, the sound of Merlin's voice faded as well.

A fog fell on Arthur. He moved and walked, but he felt a disconnect. Everything seemed somehow different, more still, colors muted. He shoved Excalibur back into it's scabbard with a curse,and heaved himself along, thinking to find Merlin. But it was quickly apparent that he was helpless in knowing how to find him in the unfamiliar territory. He wandered in the shadows of the green forest, now desolate and eerie in its familiarity and its emptiness. His lungs were not on fire as they had been the last time he had struggled up these ravines and hills; now his eyes burned instead. He felt lost, as lost as he had been in the cloying fog.

Frustrated with his fruitless wandering, Arthur simply began to climb upwards, just as he had the last time. Thinking to take the lay of the land, he climbed to a point where he could look down, unimpeded into the area below, trying to place himself. As he turned away from the view at last, still feeling numb and trying to reason, the golden light of the morning caught on a flash of red, just above his line of sight, to the right on another hill, on the other side of an outcropping of stone. A flash of red. Merlin.

Arthur found himself running. It had to be Merlin. Stones scattered under his boots as he climbed. It had to be. The flash of red was Merlin. He could see him now. The details were coming into view as he came closer. He ran harder, barely looking where he was going, except to keep his eyes trained on that flash of red. Merlin was almost sitting, half leaning, braced against the tree, just as Arthur had left him. But now his head was drooping to the side, and he was tightly wrapped in Arthur's cloak. He skidded to stop; the clatter of stones showered Merlin's boots, but he didn't move.

Arthur wasted no time. He slid one arm under the friend and turned him towards himself. His face was covered in dried blood.

"Merlin," Arthur called loudly, feeling infinite relief at the warmth of Merlin's body in his arms. The boy moaned weakly and Arthur's heart danced. His friend was wet with perspiration. There were beads of sweat still gathering and streaming down his face.

"Merlin", Arthur said again, more softly. "Try to wake up, Merlin. I'm back."

He tugged at the cloak that now tightly wrapped his friend, but the fabric resisted. Arthur found it was knotted tightly into Merlin's clenched fists. He loosened the fabric with a pang, smoothing it from Merlin's stiffened fingers. He wiped his face dry and patted his cheek gently. His servant moaned again at his touch, a shudder of sound that Arthur knew he never would have heard from Merlin had he been conscious. It betrayed a pain so deep, that Arthur was struck anew by the same realization he had earlier.

It was impossible to know if Merlin was regaining awareness or if he was dying. The lack of any physical damage did not equate with Merlin's reactions, so he had no way to judge. He recalled his friend's initial stillness and how he roused into a state of extreme weakness. The bloody coughing and the waves of agony that had gripped his servant had gone. Perhaps that meant he was getting better, but logic told him it could also be a signal of a final decline. Arthur tried to steel himself, to hide the pain of uncertainty that was now building in his heart. He hoped the destruction of the source of the fog might benefit Merlin, but he had no way to gauge what was actually happening. He was at a loss.

Merlin moaned again, stirring this time. His heaved weakly and a whisper of sound that might have been Arthur's name escaped his lips.

"Merlin," the king called again. "Merlin!"

For a moment his hopes were high, but now despite Arthur's renewed attempts to rouse him, there was no response and his friend remained unconscious in his arms. Devastated, Arthur simply didn't know what to do, nor could he formulate a plan in that moment. He thought about the knights. They must be looking for them; he could go in search of help. But he found he couldn't leave his friend again. While he prayed desperately to any god who would listen that Merlin would awaken; reason could not deny the possibility that his loyal idiot of a servant, his only friend, might be dying. He wanted to weep, but he knew he did not dare. It would be the end of him. A deeper and more terrible wisdom bade him simply hold his friend.

"Don't make me drop you on your head again, Merlin," the king said at last because he could not bear the outrage of his thoughts in the silence. He gave the servant a firm shake, and finding no response again, he held him close for a long moment. His arms tightened almost convulsively. Arthur knew he could never bear to let Merlin go. Never.

"The village is safe," said Arthur softly, trying to make some kind of sense. Unfathomable emotions pierced him as he looked at his friend. "I hope you can hear me, Merlin. The Druid village is safe. Excalibur stopped the fog. I don't know how you knew that would work, but you did. There was a lot of thunder, you know. I... I thought I heard you. Crazy, huh? But I want you to know the village is safe. " His voice caught in his throat and he couldn't go on for a moment.

"You told me how to save all those people, Merlin. If it hadn't been for you..."

To his surprise, Merlin began to move slightly in his arms. His servant took a breath and his eyes fluttered open. A tremulous awareness lit his face, even though his gaze was still unfocused.

"Druids.." he whispered.

"The Druids are safe, Merlin," said Arthur, even more gently. His blazing smile belied the quietness of his words. "The fog is gone. Everyone is safe..."

But Merlin was not soothed. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Druids," he repeated weakly again, and his lips twitched as he tried to smile. His eyes flashed to the side and Arthur looked up.

Druids.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note:Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who has reviewed and left very specific and helpful comments! It means a lot that you have taken the time to really let me know what works well in the story. I hope you will enjoy today's posting!

" _Emrys! Emrys!"_

 _So many voices calling his name. Voices echoed and fell muffled in the strange fog. Some voices were crying, there were sobs of grief. Some voices were louder and others softer. Men, women. The noise was unbearable. It was like a herd of housecats wailing all around him. Their unholy chorus rose around him when all he wanted was quiet. The fog was quiet and still. Peaceful._

" _We have the antidote to the poison, Emrys. Stay with us!" A group of voices repeated those words like a mantra. The fog held him quiescent. "Stay with us, Emrys!" He could not escape the voices and they tore at him. There was no peace. His chest was an agony of pain. He was being mauled by the pain of their voices. They were so many._

" _Stay with us. Stay with us! Emrys! Emrys! We are close!"_

" _Emrys! Emrys! Emrys!"_

 _Through all the screaming he thought he heard Arthur's voice. He was speaking so quietly, that he could hardly hear him. No, that was wrong, he thought. He could feel his friends strength surround him, and Merlin relaxed in infinite relief as he realized they were together. He was undeniably glad that his king was close, even if the best Merlin could do at the moment was do was lay down to die at Arthur's side, like a loyal dog. Somehow the idea didn't alarm him. This was good, he thought. Good._

 _Arthur's voice was as familiar as his own shadow. 'The village of Druids was safe, and if it hadn't been for him...' but Arthur didn't say thank you. Not one hint of thank you._

 _The Druids were coming, they were close by in fact. He was terrified for a moment, seized once more by his deepest fear that his magic would be revealed. But his lethargy and pained confusion drove the thought from his awareness before it could actually take shape. He honed his thoughts down. He was tired and he wanted to see Arthur. That was all he really wanted. All he needed._

" _Emrys! Emrys!"_

" _Do not give up! Stay with us, Emrys."_

 _He wanted to see Arthur. And he wanted everyone to stop screaming. He took a breath and struggled to open his eyes._

" _Emrys! Wake up, Lord Emrys!" If he had the strength he would have shut their mouths for them, he thought tiredly. He tried to sit up, but his body only gave a small heave of movement. He fought past the fog._

 _HIs vision was still blurry but Arthur's eyes were shining in a way that Merlin would not soon forget. He smiled like an idiot in spite of everything that had happened. The voices that had been screaming at him were almost upon them._

" _Druids," he whispered._

To Arthur's shock, ten feet away stood a group of Druids. An older man, holding a staff carved with deeply marked channels of runes stood in the fore, his handsome face marked by sorrow. Without speaking,the older man raised his hand, palm forward; the Druid mark on his wrist stood out in dark contrast. Several younger men, and a old woman were arrayed behind him. After a moment of stunned silence, the woman fell to her knees and bowed her head as if in prayer.

"Please help me," cried Arthur immediately, ignoring the sudden strangeness of their appearance. "Please! My friend is gravely injured. If there is any justice in your hearts, you will help him! He saved my life. It was he who told me how to save your village from the magic."

There was a sudden silence of fear among the Druids.

"The weapon, the fog is destroyed," explained Arthur. "Please," he gestured to Merlin who still lay helpless in his arms., "my friend..."

One of the younger men, broke forward suddenly from the group, reaching to check Merlin's pulse.

"Speak no more, Pendragon," the young man snapped. "We are here to help your friend." He removed a flask from the depth of his tunic and showed it briefly to Merlin, who was was still struggling to stay aware and conscious. The liquid was lurid red, darker than scarlet, and it spun a crazy shadow even as the two friends looked at it. The potion was clearly magical. Almost before Arthur could stop himself, his hand shot out to block the young healer's hand from approaching Merlin.

"Wait!"

 _The boy shone with a healers aura. It shone bright around him in flares of green and to Merlin's eyes the emerald light quivered as it approached._

" _You must drink the antidote, Lord Emrys." the healer pleaded. "There is not much time. Please! Pendragon's attitude toward magic does not matter." The vial of antidote wavered in Merlin's sight, and the magic in it spun darkly. It had been a poison of evil power and it required powerful magic in the antidote. While Merlin felt his physical body convulse again in pain, his interior magical voice rang out clearly to the Druids who were present._

" _It matters to me!"_

 _Shocked into utter silence, the Druids could not believe what they were hearing. He was waiting for Arthur's permission. Each moment that passed was wasted. The healer looked at the king with a frustrated disdain._

The healer paused, looking up at the king, the challenge in his voice and his eyes was unmistakable. "It is powerful magic. His injury is magical,Pendragon. Do you think your mortal medicine will make a difference?"

For a terrible long moment, Arthur looked directly into the cool gray eyes of the Druid who now faced him, wondering if he could trust him. He noted the Druid's beard was still only a dark down along his chin. He was a mere boy with eyes of steel and the terrible wisdom in his eyes. Arthur thought of Excalibur, of the magic that had filled him on that first golden morning and he knew what he would decide.

"Quickly," cried Arthur. There was both command and undisguised panic in his voice.

With evident relief, the young Druid whispered something in a tone of deepest reverence, as he carefully placed one hand under the servant to rise his head slightly. He bent low as he tilted the flask to Merlin's lips and began to pour it down drop by drop. Merlin gagged a bit towards the end; some of the red liquid dripping from his lips in a strange echo of the trail of blood that Arthur had just wiped away moments before. The young druid whispered again in his servant's ear and Arthur could make nothing out even though he was only inches away. Merlin nodded in response.

All the while, his eyes never strayed from Arthur's. For his part, the king could not understand the expression in his friend's eyes. There was some terrible burden and a baseless, incandescent hope at war in his familiar gaze.

" Arthur," pleaded Merlin in sudden agony, as the trembling began again.

" _You must not tell Arthur of the poison."_

 _The healer spoke almost before hearing, "He believes you were injured by the blast from the containment spell. He knows nothing of the effects of the poison on those with magic. I will say nothing, Lord Emrys. Your secret is safe."_

 _Merlin cursed himself for lying to Arthur even in this extremity. He had so many regrets._

" _I can't risk it," he pleaded. He was not sure if he justified it to himself or to the Druids that had just saved his life._

" _You have my promise, my Lord. You must calm yourself, Emrys. The antidote is taking effect. It will be brief but very...uncomfortable. You will sleep for many hours after the poison finally leaves your body. Have no fear, your people are with you..."_

 _Merlin only nodded in response._

 _A energy swept through his body and he jerked almost involuntarily. The cramping pain left him breathless and nauseous._

" _Arthur," he called, suddenly frightened._

To Arthur's pure terror, Merlin's eyes slid shut, and he blanched even more pale. He began to stream sweat even more profusely. In a few seconds, Merlin was drenched and the tremor built in strength in his arms and lower legs.

Arthur looked up at the young Druid, whose face was intent and calm now.

"Have no fear," the boy said, almost too quickly. He checked Merlin's pulse with a practiced ease, briefly touching Merlin's forehead with a prayer he mouthed below his breath. "He is reacting well to the medicine, Pendragon. This part will be over quickly and he will recover. You must try not to move him." Horrified, Arthur relaxed his hold on his friend immediately, but he could not bring himself to simply lay him on the ground. He would not let Merlin suffer through this alone. Already unconscious, but as if he sought to quell the Druid's anxious looks, Merlin only settled deeper into the support of Arthur's arms as the trembling increased.

The shaking grew in waves of intensity, as did his sweating, until Merlin gave a horrific grunt of pain, his whole body convulsing weakly. He lay quiet for a moment , torpid and panting, until the cycle began again. Once or twice he cried out Arthur's name and was briefly conscious. He seemed to understand he was not alone in his suffering. But the waves of pain were inexorable, and swept him away. Arthur stopped counting after the sixth surge of tremor and sweating and just kept pleading silently with the universe to have mercy.

Sweat dripped from Merlin's damp hair and Arthur wiped it from his friend's eyes and forehead wordlessly, using the edge of the cape, careful not to move him. Minutes passed slowly as the cycles continued. He coaxed Merlin to take a few sips of water., between a few of the cycles. The minutes lengthened into an hour. There were moments when Arthur gave way to complete terror. He fought to remind himself that the Druids said Merlin would live. But the cycles of sweating and trembling continued unabated, like the most heinous of tortures. Even the Druid healer had lost his air of confidence and appeared to be praying under his breath.

His servant was now barely breathing in the few blessed minutes between the bouts of seizing pain and sweating. Arthur fought to not count each breath he took. Merlin moaned again in anguish as the waves of trembling began again and shook him ever more violently. To his horror, slowly, a fine mist seemed to be settling around them both. Sodden grey eddies of fog began to collect, coiling and sliding around them ever more loosely with every shudder that Arthur counted as a breath.

"Get it away!, cried Arthur desperately, looking up. "Get it away!" His arms were wrapped ever more protectively around Merlin as the fog thickened. He was never sure if the figures he glimpsed in the sudden white shadows were Druids or something else, because at that terrible moment Merlin went completely rigid in his arms. His heart seized in lurch of despair. Unable to look away, Arthur watched as his friend shook in silent agony, his body vibrating with the merciless throes of the magical healing. He seemed unable to breathe for a long moment, and then,with a broken sigh, he slowly went limp. The coiling fog rose in shadowy gouts of flame, spiraling up and shattering into sparks of gold.

Startled, beyond frightened, Arthur looked up at the figures in the disappearing mist. HIs heart thundered in his chest. They smiled at him in shared joy.

"He is asleep," said the young Druid healer.

Arthur felt dizzy with relief.


	8. Chapter 8

_When Merlin awoke, he thought he was back in Camelot for a moment. The bed was comfortable and the blankets soft as a cloud, but they smelled of woodsmoke and lavender. Beneath it all, the scent of magic hung around his comforts. No, definitely not Camelot. Still muzzy from sleep and relaxed, he thought he could hear Arthur's voice. Strange how that kept happening. Arthur's voice echoing through his nightmares, Arthur's dying words in his vision, Arthur's voice like a lifeline in the white wilderness of the poison fog._

 _He wondered if it was afternoon or night. There was a strange sound around him, like a hum. He somehow remembered that at times it had grown louder, so loud that he couldn't hear anything else. But for now it was soft, like a song on the edge of his hearing. Steps passed near him, the hum surged and then the steps retreated. Merlin thought about opening his eyes, but he could hear Arthur talking to someone a stones throw away, slightly muffled. A screen? Arthur was talking to someone, not him._

" _...will be glad to help your people with extra food and supplies during the winter. You can't understand the depth of my gratitude, for everything you have done."_

" _You hold your servant in high esteem,..." the healers voice began diffidently, as if he was wary. The king cut him off._

" _You were there!" said Arthur quietly. "You, yourself, gave him the medicine that saved his life. Merlin was dying when you arrived. I am not a fool, nor am I ungrateful. You saved his life, and mine as well. I am in your debt. Please accept my offer."_

 _There was a silence._

" _He was injured saving my life when the protection spell broke." Arthur's voice was heavy with pain. "He took the blast, shielding me with his own body. You cannot understand the extremes my idiot servant will go to in order to protect me! I could not bear to lose him. He is... Merlin is my friend. That is a rare gift for any king. I know you understand." Arthur paused. "You were there," he repeated, as if it was proof of his heart._

 _The young healer sighed._

" _I do not doubt your friendship with your 'servant', but the past it is not so easily forgotten." His voice paused as if he was considering his words. "You must understand other things, Pendragon, before we accept your help. Before we can trust you. It was only for the sake of your 'servant' that we acted." Merlin flinched again at the odd ironic inflection on that one word. Though his voice was soft, his tone was merciless._

" _You ignored the warning flags we erected. Even now, you do not understand what you did. When you drew Excalibur in the presence of the glade, the sword's very presence, it's inherent power, damaged the ancient protection spell, releasing the fog. You have been warned before by your servant about drawing weapons in the presence of Druid holy places. To make it worse, you drew a magical weapon. And you were too ignorant to know that it could also destroy the fog. Open you ears and listen, Pendragon."_

 _There was a deeper silence._

" _We were spared tragedy this day, all of us...," said the healer softly, 'because your 'servant' is both brave and wise." His strange emphasis on the word 'servant' sent another chill down Merlin's back. "His life is dear to us... for many reasons. When you accepted the medicine, you accepted that magic is not always evil." The healer paused in a way that frightened the secret warlock even more. "You must do more than accept help in extremity. You must learn something of magic, not the trumped up stories fed to you by your father. Because none of this had to happen."_

 _Merlin heard the shift of Arthur's mail as it moved. He could only imagine the fierce glare of Arthur's eyes._

" _You owe it to all of your subjects, to understand the power of the weapon you carry, King Arthur."_

 _Those words echoed through Merlin's head. "The power of the weapon you carry."_

" _None of this had to happen," the healer repeated._

 _Fear flooded through Merlin's heart in a way he could hardly admit. He hated his world of half truth and lies. He hated that a Druid healer he had never met was telling Arthur the truth, while he could never be so honest. And he was terrified of his secret being revealed._

 _That thought alone, drove him to his feet. He tried to sit up, and he pushed himself to stand, even though his head spun. He stumbled and fell from the cot where he had been lying, still trying to get up. He felt as if he was burning with fever, suddenly sweating. Everything went fuzzy and grey around the edges, his vision was blurred by a murderous ringing in his ears. He fell to the ground._

 _Arthur. The power of the weapon Merlin had given Arthur. Forged in the dragon's breath._

" _Merlin!"_

 _Arthur cried out his name. In the same moment , the Druid healer began to shout silently to attend Emrys. The darkness obliterated Merlin's vision completely, he couldn't move for some reason and he felt cold and sick to his stomach. He could hear Arthur and the healer, both of them, calling for help The king reached him before the healer did. Arthur lifted him but no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to open his eyes. But he could hear._

 _Arthur's voice was soft as he called to Merlin once again. Strong hands were gentle and careful as they moved him, but Arthur's voice was almost merry. Arthur's voice. Again. He smiled at the thought, whether nightmare and reality, it was always Arthur's voice._

 _The healer was checking him over quietly. The touch of his mind was quiet and professional. His magical sense was alive, as was his hearing, but he couldn't move. Merlin felt oddly disconnected, as if he wasn't sure how to fit into his body again. For a moment ,he struggled. Outside, Merlin could sense, more than hear, the softly breathed prayers that arose like smoke, like incense. The hum rose louder around him. The cloud soft blankets were back. There was a healing smoke in the air, and voices, voices that Arthur couldn't hear. At last, the voices faded into a background blur of sound, but Arthur's did not._

" _It's about time you woke up," said the king in equal tones of delight and pompous pronouncement. "Open your eyes, Merlin!"_

" _Don't think I'm going to pick you up every time you decide to faint. Do you hear me, you idiot?" He took a breath, "You can act the petticoat all you want," Arthur continued, in his most kingly way, as he tried to rouse his semi-conscious friend, " just as long as you don't swoon, like a girl when we aren't looking." The king was unaware of the solemn uproar of the Druids around him, and for some strange reason, Merlin thought that was funny. The fog was gone._

 _Merlin struggled to open his eyes. To his surprise, he succeeded._

" _Hey!" said Arthur softly._

" _It isn't..." he started, but his voice failed him. Arthur immediately slipped his arm behind Merlin and raised him enough that the healer could give him a few sips of water. He smiled at the young man, who to Merlin's sight was surrounded by a faint aura of green. He winced at the familiar taste of a potion in the water. As the king carefully maneuvered him back to the pillows, Merlin realized he could barely move on his own, and soreness was aching through his body._

" _It isn't swooning, when you're half dead," he huffed at the king._

" _Half-dead?" Arthur snorted, smiling broadly. "Are you mental?"_

 _A nightmare had finally ended. Merlin saw the bright morning of relief in Arthur's eyes._

" _You are far from half dead, Merlin," he continued. "You'll be right as rain by tomorrow morning! The healer said so. Don't think you can milk this thing. I know your lazy ways!"_

 _The healers jaw dropped. The king went on as if he had not said anything extraordinary._

" _The knights are on their way to rendezvous even as we speak, thanks to word from your healer, and these other kind Druids who seem to have adopted you." Arthur laughed as if he was inordinately pleased, and he gestured to the small mound of flowers, and one or two candles burned to stumps, like some kind of shrine within a stone's throw of where he lay. He continued to laugh at Merlin's surprised and moved expression. He gestured to the shade structure and the cot where he lay._

" _You would think you were a prince of some sort, the way these Druids carry on about you." He fingered the cloud soft blanket, by example. "It's fit for a king, ... grateful, for your help, I guess," he added sotto voice and Merlin choked, trying hard not to laugh._

 _Arthur rolled his eyes and settled in to sit next to him on the cot. Merlin regained his breath. "We will be on our way to Camelot in the morning so you must be ready to ride. No more lolly gagging after a good night's sleep! You have work to do!"_

 _Merlin simply smiled up at Arthur._

" _The stables haven't mucked themselves out while you've been playing the hero," continued Arthur with royal enthusiasm. " Sir Leon will need help re-organizing the armory and my best armor needs a polish before next weeks tourney!"_

 _The Druid healer looked ever more aghast at Arthur's list of chores. HIs eyes blazed with sudden resentment. There was a ominous murmur as the King's voice carried to the Druids outside._

" _You think he's kidding, don't you," asked Merlin conversationally._

" _He must rest, Pendragon. He requires care for a while more, even though his strength will return quickly. Perhaps you should leave..."_

" _ **No**_ _!"_

 _Both king and servant replied in unison but Merlin's voice echoed through the trees, although his friend could not hear it. There was a sudden hush among the Druids._

" _No," said the secret warlock more calmly. He raised his hand in a pleading way to the healer who gently approached him. The young man took his hand, with a humble sense of reverence._

" _Emrys," he said, silently. There were echoes in the word that only Merlin could comprehend._

" _I am grateful for all you have done. You have saved my life when there was little hope," the servant said softly, his tone compassionate and gentle. "Please,you must understand...I am glad to be his servant, until the.."_

" _No!" The cry tore from Arthur's lips in a vehement denial.. " No, Merlin! Never say that again!""_

 _Merlin paused in shock, looking into Arthur's eyes. An abyss of terror threatened from their blue depths. There was a clawing, anguished look there, that the secret warlock never could have imagined, not even in their darkest hours. Shadows in the silent fog tore at him, ever threatening._

" _Never again," said Arthur. "Promise me, you will never use those words again!"_

" _Never" said Merlin, heart stricken and filled with an awful and wonderful comprehension._

" _Not for anything", insisted Arthur._

 _The servant nodded in agreement, tears shining in his eyes suddenly._

" _Never!"_

 _Arthur could say nothing more. The king and his servant were content and their hearts were full. It did not matter that the healer could not truly understand the sudden turn of their conversation. He stood beside them, uncomprehending and reverent, a silent witness. He was a man acquainted with miracles._


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur sat in the faint moonlight, in a clearing, in the forest, Excalibur balanced on his knees. Behind him, he heard the buzz of the Druid camp. The night air was clear, with no hint of fog. The fires of the camp were merry with voices and laughter. The delicious smell of food wafted through the air.

Gawaine and Leon had arrived a few hours ago, and Merlin had roused briefly when the knights had neared his cot in the shelter of the lean-to, his eyes sparkling and his familiar grin lighting his face, as he told his friends they smelled disgusting. But he almost immediately faded back into sleep, and while Arthur and his knights, found Merlin's weakness a bit alarming, the healer reassured him that his friend was recovering quickly. He would be able to ride by morning. But he warned most direly that they must not disturb Merlin further. Despite the fact that the boy healer, possessed not a shred of threatening eyebrow, Arthur felt the same sort of compliant dread that Gaius roused in him.

Arthur was stunned by his feelings. He was filled with a sense that he was grateful for something he could hardly understand. The healer's words in their private conversation had both angered and haunted him. They were true words. Excalibur was the brutal truth that lay beneath his hands.

He had known that Excalibur was a magic blade, yet he had done nothing to understand it. His reluctance to look at this issue had almost cost Merlin his life. If it had not been for the Druids, who appeared like saviors out of no where, he might be burying his only friend. Burying Merlin. The very thought shook his sanity in a way he could hardly imagine. He was both angry at himself, and deeply frightened by the very blade he loved, by the sword that was the very symbol of who he was and the belief that drove his reign.

Under the moonlight, Excalibur shone. The runes that were written on the blade, glittered unexpectedly, sparking gold. HIs fingers traced the markings, as familiar now, as the letters of his own name. Warmth surged from the blade, as if wakened to his touch. The memory of the morning sun and the faith of the gathered crowd in the green depths of the forest came flooding back. He took a delighted breath as Excalibur sang in his grip. Somehow the magic of the sword held no fear. It was as close and familiar as his own shadow. He had come to rely on that very magic without even knowing how or when it happened.

"You owe it to all of your subjects, to understand the power of the weapon you carry."

Arthur saw no other possible path before him, although he wondered, at the deepest level, if his courage was quite up to the task. He must return to the Druids and learn more of their customs, if only to know the powers and limits of his mysterious, faithful weapon. However, hard those truths might be, he had to face them. He owed it to Merlin, who had almost died because of his blindness. How little he had guessed of the true power of Excalibur. How little he knew of it's powers. He had escaped the consequences of his refusal to look at the issue, this time. He doubted he would be so lucky again.

The silver light of the night seemed more precious for the surrounding shadows of the forest. Nothing had yet come to pass. All might yet be changed. Wonder and gratitude filled his heart, destiny rushed on him, just as it had on that eternal moment that Excalibur had become his.

He rested the faintly glowing weapon on the damp earth, feeling the give of the soil. He inhaled the fertile fragrance, the night sky was brilliant with stars that shimmered among the trees. The darkness was bright with a singing glory, and memories roiled in the wind. Arthur touched Excalibur, resting his hands along the length of the blade as it pressed into the earth. He closed his eyes, but the glorious light did not leave his awareness. As on the that golden morning, the moment was etched in fire. Excalibur was his and the familiar touch of it's magic buoyed him. Knowing he could rely on the essential magic of Excalibur meant the world was different than anything Uther had ever preached. Every king must find his own way. Arthur knew with a certainty, that this path would force him to face terrible secrets. His father and the Great Purge had hidden many horrific deeds that in turn had bred monsters of nightmare revenge. Truths might emerge that would challenge his deepest beliefs. And yet there was no other choice that made sense. He would keep the promise he made this night.

With a sense of reverence that felt complete, he stood and sheathed Excalibur, and turned back to the temporary encampment the Druids had built to shelter Merlin. Their uncommon kindness and attention to his servant had been remarkable. Arthur would not soon forget the stream of people that had passed by the lean-to where Merlin had rested after his horrific healing. Arthur could not bring himself to leave his friend's side as he slept. The Druids had kindly offered him a place to rest, but both friends still hovered on the edge of nightmare. Arthur could only deal with the shock, by reassuring himself that all was well, and the Druids had let him be. As he continued his vigil, more people had come out. Shyly, a few old women had quietly voiced their gratitude, along with some children, but the numbers grew. Many of them had wept openly as they whispered their thanks to his servant. It would have gone to the idiot's head completely if he had known, but as a king, he could not shake the feeling that fealty was sworn, though he had heard no such words.

Arthur decided that the idea was ludicrous and exhaustion had taken it's toll; he had only slept in snatches. For a moment, his hand on the pommel of his sword, he swore he could see a silver glow that burned at the heart of the hearth fires of the Druids, it blazed against the glittering array of the stars above, it rose above the shadows of the trees; it spun in the voices singing snatches of song, but it was gone before he could understand.

Excalibur sang.

 **Author's note: Thank you to everyone has been reading my story. I hope you have enjoyed it; an epilogue will follow shortly. Merlin insists on having the last word!**


	10. Epilogue

_It was a few days after their return to Camelot that Merlin finally attended to Excalibur. He had delayed polishing Arthur's armor until the last moment as usual. The armory had been re-organized before the tourney, and now Merlin was finishing up his duties. Although it was late, he had come to finish polishing and readying Arthur's gear for tomorrows action._

 _Merlin had been easily distracted since their return. Recounting the terrible story of the fog to Gaius, and then explaining more details, once the old physician had heard Arthur's version of the tale, had been exhausting enough. He had been poked and prodded and found to be in perfect health. While he felt strong and well in his body, the Druid medicine could not deal with the turning point that seemed to be upon his own heart._

 _The fog and the secrets it had brought to the fore, were more easily handled by throwing himself into more tedious work, while his mind worried at the complex dance of revelation and power that had allowed Arthur to look at the Druids in a different way. The terrible visions he had endured during his poisoning had risen to haunt his dreams more than once. Arthur's thank you echoed in the abyss. He tried to tell himself it was a product of his poisoning; he remembered well the torrent of guilt that had gripped his delirium. It was best to put those thoughts aside. It wouldn't do to let his attention wander when he was cleaning and polishing Excalibur. At least that's what he told himself._

 _He pulled the sword from the scabbard and took it carefully into his grip, the familiar magic of the sword melding with his own strength. He marveled at the feeling. No other weapon felt this way. Alive with magic, just as he was. It belonged to him, as much as it belonged to Arthur. It was he who had held Excalibur as Kilgarrah had burnished it in his magical fire. It was he who had hidden it in the still mystical waters of Avalon until the day he recalled it for Arthur and Camelot's salvation. It was he, Merlin, who had enchanted the sword into the stone, until that golden morning of Arthur's deepest need. Despite the blood it had spilled and the curses it had broken, the sword never failed to delight him. It was a part of his own magic, twined forever with his own dragonlord heritage and the magic that sustained every fiber of his being. Excalibur was his, and there was part of his magic that worked it's way through it's every movement. He greeted the weapon with a surge of heartfelt recognition._

 _He took the oilstone out, readying himself to clean the blade before he worked on the edge. Both of his hands rested on the blade for a moment._

 _He felt a flare of heat and a sudden strangeness. His head reeled. Beyond the singing familiarity of it's magic, Excalibur burned. It had changed. It had changed in the most elemental of ways._

 _Merlin staggered and fell to his knees, hardly daring to believe what he perceived. He feared his heart would tear open and his lifeblood pump into the groaning earth, if what he thought he had glimpsed, proved to be untrue. Hardly daring to hope, the warlock brought his hands back to the sword, his heart thundering in his chest. Images sang to him._

 _He saw Tom, Guinevere's father, his serious face lit by the forge. With each blow driven by his powerful shoulders, he worked the metal into a weapon of deadly finesse. The pride in his craftsmanship shone in his face as he inspected the blade. He saw Kilgarrah. The shining power of his eyes pierced him in the darkness as his mouth opened and the arcane fire enveloped him. It blazed around him,magical and immortal, and the dragonfire burnished the mortal into something more. Only Merlin could understand the holy terror of that moment. He felt again the pounding of his heart as Arthur drew the sword from the stone. He remembered how the light of the forest had blazed with magic, how it had flooded the glen and touched all the people, knights and peasants alike, who had gathered, hope against hope, to witness a miracle. Arthur sat in the darkness of the forest, moonlight flooding around him, Excalibur in his hand. Merlin felt his own heart was tear and bleed as the truth burned in Arthur's awareness._

 _Excalibur blazed beneath his hand, shining with a new promise. It reverberated with the echo of a vow that had sundered Arthur's heart, until the imprint of his will and his promise were written on the shimmering surface of the blade. The blade was changed forever. The change was written into the folding and refolding of the metal, as if it had been that way since the day it was forged. The change was woven into each cycle of heating and shaping and tempering of the blade until it was knit through with this new promise._

 _There was a place for magic in Camelot._

 _There was a place for magic in Camelot and like Excalibur itself, it might even be by Arthur's side. Despite the hope that filled his heart; despite the wonderful promise that might bring dreams into reality, Merlin was haunted by the terrible secrets that this new promise would extract. His eyes filled with tears of comprehension and his heart warred with fear and joy. Excalibur was the brutal truth that lay beneath his hands. The day of revelation was nigh. It was a day he dreaded._

 _Thank you dear readers for continuing to read this story! I hope you enjoyed it. This story was instrumental in helping me write again, and I hope that you will forgive any repetitive aspects of it's nature. Thank you again. I hope to have another story up soon!_


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